


Milestone

by galaxyostars



Series: The DMC Collection [12]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC Hanami Week, Dante (Devil May Cry) is a Sweetheart, F/M, Post-Wedding, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: Dante’s eyebrows tightened into a confused, quizzical frown. “What do you mean, ‘and’? I’m your uncle. I told her you’re my nephew.”The words sounded trivial, but the meaning was much deeper. Silence permeated the space between the two men, the bottle freezing in its place at the edge of Nero’s lips. His eyes glistened for a moment, familiar blues flickering to Dante, then away again.Nero had never heard Dante say that. To anyone.
Relationships: Background Nico & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Series: The DMC Collection [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387243
Comments: 6
Kudos: 124





	Milestone

**Author's Note:**

> #NotLateYoureLate
> 
> Day 6 for DMC Hanami Week -- "Milestone".

He didn’t belong here.

It was simple logic, really. These people surrounding the modest function room, insecurities otherwise hidden by the flashing dance lights that occasionally spilled from the dancefloor – he wasn’t like them. Donned in his red leather duster, but with a nice button-up shirt and slacks, Dante had kicked his boots onto the table. He leaned back in a pseudo-casual position, the intent being to fool the other guests that he was in fact the picture of calm. He folded his hands in his lap, his thumbs curling around one another as he counted the minutes until he could feasibly escape the event without being called out for it.

A short(ish), stocky woman sidled up next to him. Her hair was scrunched into a disastrous half-up, half-down bundle of curls. The drink in her hand sloshed as she swayed in her seat, and she excitedly addressed Dante.

“Who are you here for?”

Dante blinked at her, his eyes briefly glimpsing the ‘odd couple’ having the time of their lives on the dancefloor. He gaped for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the strange question. “Sorry?”

“Are you here for the bride or groom?”

“Oh. Groom. I’m… here for the groom.”

“How _odd!_ ” she exclaimed, lightly shoving at his shoulder with a drunk smile. “You must be the first person I’ve met tonight here for him!”

Idly, Dante’s eyes wandered over to where Nico was drinking Vergil under the table. By some oddity, the demon lord failed to chug his glass, getting about halfway before abandoning it with a dejected grimace. Meanwhile, Nico kept gulping hers down like a professional, a waiting cigarette trapped between her fingers. She slammed the empty glass onto the bar with a whoop of victory and brought the cigarette to her lips, sucking in enough tobacco to make any demon he knew shudder.

With that image, Dante could understand why this woman had been hesitant to approach the two. They were barely acting _human_ – though, really, was draining the bar of its supply of beer and whisky _not_ a human activity?

“No,” Dante finally said. “I’m not the only one.”

“I’m so _relieved_! I was really worried he’d be lonely or something. He organised all of this – and that’s really _strange_ , you know? Defies tradition and all that!”

“He’s a busy-body,” he shrugged.

“No kidding! Look at this place! It’s absolutely beautiful.”

The woman gestured to the twinkle lights overhead. Candles were lined in a row along the room’s structural beam, joined by a false vine that wrapped around the wood – enough to give the place an ‘earthy’ look, but be otherwise unlikely to catch fire. The combination of lights gave the seating area a golden hue that warmed the room. 

It also highlighted the awkward, pasty undertones of all the demons in the room, but only one of them had been bothered enough to do something about that (and he doubted “bothered” was really the right word for it) — Trish bought herself some bronzer.

Nero had done all of this himself. Dante had no idea _how_ he’d done all of it himself, while also looking after three or so foster kids – they weren’t exactly the quietest of young ones and were (whenever Dante was around) quite the handful.

“Yeah,” the legendary devil hunter breathed. “It’s amazing.”

“So, are you friend or family?”

“Uh… family.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m… he’s my nephew.”

That felt strange. Thinking on it now, this was the first time he’s ever said those words out loud – to _anyone_. He’d barely acknowledged his blood relation to Nero when informing Vergil he was Nero’s father. The attention was always on someone else. Dante was secondary. Admitting a personal attachment to Nero was… unfamiliar. A horrible emotion swirled in the pit of his stomach. Not _love_ , specifically. But how did one define _family_ as an emotion?

Ava pulled back, eyes wide as she regarded him. Her lips pressed into a thin line – shock passing across her brow. “No way.”

He gave her a nervous shrug.

“You don’t look a day over _thirty-five_!”

Really? _That_ was the biggest part of this revelation? Not that Nero’s long lost family had shown up out of the blue for his wedding? “…thanks?”

“Seriously- you can’t be his uncle!”

 _Jeez_ , Dante sighed inwardly. If his not-over-thirty-five appearance had stunned her, Vergil’s baby-face would absolutely _wreck_ her.

“Ava! Sara’s been wondering where you wandered off to!”

Nero slid into a chair with a heavy breath. His white hair was tousled, wind-swept from too much dancing, and his cheeks tinted red. He’d wrapped his necktie around his hand, the top button of his light blue dress shirt undone under his vest, sleeves rolled up and out of the way. He’d discarded his jacket on one of the tables earlier in the night – he didn’t seem bothered by its absence.

The woman harassing Dante – _Ava –_ rushed to get up out of her seat, stumbling on her way. Nero shot upwards to help stabilise her, but she laughed and shrugged him off. “Need more _liquor_!” she called as she trumpled her way towards a small gathering of women.

Nero laughed quietly after her. “Sorry – she’s Kyrie’s friend from church.”

“I didn’t think anyone in Fortuna knew how to drink anything other than one glass of wine at dinnertime,” Dante smirked.

“Growing up in the Order, sure,” Nero leaned over the table, stealing Dante’s bottle of beer. “As soon as they all hit twenty-two, though, it was almost impossible to keep the girls away from it.”

Dante chuckled while Nero took a swig. “Oh, the effects of alcohol on the innocent.”

Nero hummed in agreement. “So what did Ava want with you? She’s not usually the one that tries getting into everyone’s pants.”

“Nothing like that. She just wanted to know my relation to you.”

“And?”

Dante’s eyebrows tightened into a confused, quizzical frown. “What do you mean, ‘ _and’_? I’m your _uncle_. I told her you’re my nephew.”

The words sounded trivial, but the meaning was much deeper. Silence permeated the space between the two men, the bottle freezing in its place at the edge of Nero’s lips. His eyes glistened for a moment, familiar blues flickering to Dante, then away again.

Nero had never heard Dante say that. To anyone.

The kid finally took a short, sharp swig of the bottle, and leaned back in his chair. He brushed off the seriousness of the words. Sure, they’d been slowly working on communicating empathy with one another, but it was… a _lot_ of work. Nero had already teared up once today.

“Reclusive Uncle Dante sitting in the corner nursing a beer, eh?” he said. Dante’s heart twinged at the title.

“I resent that statement.”

Nero’s cheeks fell. “Which part?”

“I was not _nursing a beer._ ”

Nero rolled his eyes, but Dante could see the relief sink into his shoulders. The groom looked to the dancefloor to occupy himself. Kyrie was positively glowing in her bridal gown – an intricately patterned lace overlayed the white dress, from her hemline to the end of her long sleeves and high neckline. She was held in by old-fashioned buttons lining her spine, most of which were hidden by her auburn hair. A flower crown of blossoms topped her head.

Kyrie’s smile was contagious. And so it should be. This was her day.

“Y’know Dante, I’m really thankful you came,” Nero breathed. Dante rose another eyebrow at him, and he continued. “I know this isn’t really your kind of thing, but… it’s… it’s good, having you here.”

Dante crossed his arms over himself, pulling his eyes away from his mushy nephew to stare at Vergil in the middle of admonishing Nico over her drinking choices. “We don’t get together often,” Dante said. “This is a good reason to.” Trish and Lady approached the bar. Trish (the taller of the two) reached past the bartender’s head to steal two bottles of what Dante figured was probably bourbon. He’d have to go rescue the barman at some point during the night, lest they end up on the wrong side of Lady’s firearm. “Besides, this is your big day. You’re only meant to get one. I wouldn’t’ve missed it.”

“I expected you at the ceremony, sure. This reception…” Nero tilted his head a bit, eyes surveying his handiwork. “It’s not _as_ important.”

Dante leaned his head back. “Nero, you’re making yourself a _life_. That’s _important_.”

The young man looked sheepish in Dante’s presence – an odd sight, given his push to constantly prove himself. The difference of their upbringings made it seem Nero required constant approval. It wasn’t obvious to the naked eye – these days Nero took orders from no one but Kyrie – though it was a consequence, or maybe a perk, of his upbringing. Nero was an inquisitor at heart and had to understand reasoning behind anything and everything – which frequently reminded Dante of Vergil.

Nero had the experience of nurturement until he broke 18 years old. By that point, he was comfortably independent… if not a little angst-ridden from what Dante had witnessed. Kyrie and Credo aside, the Order of the Sword had given him something Dante and Vergil hadn’t gotten themselves: a stable lifestyle. He’d never tell Nero, but Dante was glad Vergil hadn’t known about his son’s birth. Nero might have faced discrimination by the circumstances of his youth, but it was far better than what Dante pictured a power-hungry Vergil doing. Vergil’s definition of a ‘stable upbringing’ was not on par with Kyrie’s parents. They weren’t even in the same ballpark. Tragedy had forced Vergil and Dante to grow up alone, to fend for themselves at an early age. Sure, they had their mother until they learned to fight for themselves, but Nero could fall back on Kyrie (and Credo until the latter’s death). He had a support network, a family, even if he hadn’t considered them as such.

But the incident with the Saviour, and subsequently his meeting Dante, lit a fire underneath Nero to live up to an expectation: heroism.

Though “heroism” wasn’t quite the word Dante was looking for. He himself hardly enjoyed being labelled as a “hero”: Dante was there to get a job done and get paid, nothing more, nothing less. If it involved one of their own, fine; he’d step in if necessary. But Nero was a different story. While Dante’s dance with expectation and responsibility had left him lounging carefree in Devil May Cry (with copious amounts of debt), Nero’s had resulted in marriage. In a stable human life.

Kyrie was important. Nero’s relationship, his _marriage_ to her now, was important. Dante might be hesitant about being in a room full of partying humans (frankly, he stuck out like a sore thumb even _with_ Trish and Vergil here), but he would never miss this man being happy. Nero worked hard for this. He deserved it.

After the moment of silent contemplation ended, Nero spoke up and pointed the bottleneck at Dante. “Don’t think this means I’m retiring.”

“Oh, nothing’s changed. If anything, this means you can take over most of my jobs after your honeymoon,” Dante smirked, taking the bottle from Nero and finishing it in one swig.

“Don’t be so lazy, Dante,” Nero moaned. “I have better things to be doing than cleaning up your messes.”

“Yes you do,” Dante agreed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
